


Troopers and Space Rats

by JackieSBlake7



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackieSBlake7/pseuds/JackieSBlake7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - the Liberator's attack on Space Command occurs shortly after the events of the episode 'Trial'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troopers and Space Rats

**Author's Note:**

> Another story, slightly reworked, from the defunct website

The verdict on Travis had just been announced, and he stood in the dock, feeling cheated – though there had been no other possible outcome. They were hypocrites all: the result would have been the same had the trial been held by the rebels – but it would have been more honest with them. He wanted, somehow, for some reason, to have had one last encounter with Blake.  
Servalan came in to the courtroom, now that the action was over. Suddenly Travis hated her more than he did Blake. He and Blake understood each other’s motives and goals… but what were the Supreme Commander’s, changing on a whim, beyond gaining a momentary advantage on her route to the Presidency?  
‘Come to gloat… Supreme Commander?’ Travis asked, the pause deliberate to the point of overt insolence, glancing round the room: Servalan’s ambitions were well known. As a condemned man he had nothing left to lose. Perhaps he could exact something from beyond the grave. Which would be a reward, or a revenge, of sorts. He grinned. ‘And also to choose your next victim?’  
‘The prisoner will remain silent!’ Samor said, with a slight uncertainty. Servalan’s reputation was enough to make Travis’ comment plausible.  
‘Oh shut up – how long before you end up here at her whim?’ Travis said, indicating the dock he had left a few moments before. There were undoubtedly recording devices in the courtroom. ‘She intends to be President don’t you know?’ Everybody knew it – even without the regular habit of her predecessors – but it was normally unsaid. ‘And you’ll be first on the list.’ Travis did not know this for certain, but from the glance Samor cast Servalan the idea had taken. ‘You’ve got too much respect among those you command Fleet Warden General,’ Travis was acknowledging no more than the truth, ‘for her to trust you.’ He would last no longer than she needed him – he might even see out the day she declared herself President.  
‘Ignore him,’ Servalan said to Samor. ‘Travis is trying to save his own skin and destroy me, the Supreme Commander.’ She was, however, clearly nervous. Travis was not certain if he had hit the mark, or the actual truth was such that Servalan could not deny his suggestion.  
‘Why have you come here now?’ Travis asked. Better a clean death here than the sort of punishment Servalan was likely to inflict, or have inflicted, with pleasure. ‘You are enjoying this aren’t you, seeing how I react. Tell me Fleet Warden General,’ he asked turning to the other man, ‘why I was brought to trial so long after the massacre?’ He was on a fighting high, could not care less what happened now, especially as nobody seemed willing to constrain him. He could kill and exult in it: even Samor… even Servalan. Blake might be his enemy, but Travis trusted him further than he would Servalan. There was no answer. ‘Servalan – tell me, why did you come here? To see justice be done? A last favour for a condemned man?’  
‘I had come to wish you farewell.’ She was suddenly charming as ever. ‘Which I regret.’  
Travis was not aware of moving, but suddenly he had his hands round Servalan’s neck. Servalan struggled and choked, but Travis had the strength of his artificial arm even without the weapon, and the knowledge he had nothing to lose, while the guards would not shoot him for fear of damaging Servalan. Then Travis remembered something Blake had once said.  
‘You, Supreme Commander, are not worth killing – even though I am going to die shortly.’ He looked round the court, suddenly aware, again, of where he was. He had humiliated Servalan, a far worse crime than killing her. ‘And your bodyguards don’t do much do they? Or do you look for other qualities among your minions?’ Her “hobby” was well known, and again not referred to other than by hints and whispers. She struggled to say something – Travis did not relax his grip, but started moving slowly to the door. What he would do when he reached it was unclear.  
‘What do you intend achieving by this?’ Samor asked, maintaining his composure, despite his just obvious uncertainty. There were no rules for this situation.  
Servalan tried struggling again… and Travis was at the door. He threw Servalan to the floor – she was struggling for breath and could not react immediately.

An alarm went off… Space Command was under attack. Most in the courtroom were too startled to think.  
There was an explosion – the courtroom had taken a direct hit. In the confusion, and before the automatic door sealing process began, Travis managed to get out and almost collapsed in the corridor. He was barely aware of the guard at the door. It was only when Travis had knocked him out that he realised it was Par.  
Now to escape… thanks to whatever idiots had decided to attack Space Command this time. Let others make of what they would of what remained of the courtroom – hopefully he would by then be long gone – if they worked out he had survived. Par might face no comeback, even if he had seen his assailant – it might be explained away as an illusion based on the shockwaves of whatever had happened.

It seemed nobody had noticed the small ship he had taken leaving Space Command. Probably too much confusion at the time – and it would be put down to computer malfunction or someone not recording their departure beforehand, as happened more often than officially admitted.  
Now to decide what to do next.

****

Travis finished his drink in the bar and was deciding where to go next. The latest round of the Teal Vandor contest system had just been mentioned on the news being broadcast… which provided an almost tempting possibility. It appealed more than the possibility of providing “protection” in places such as this, and drinking away his pay, such as it would be.  
‘Oi, you.’  
Travis looked up at the voice. A strange youngish man faced him.  
‘Yes?’ Getting his arm fixed had cost him – but had been worth it. Now he was trying to find out ways of more than just surviving. Which, it increasingly seemed, would probably mean leaving the Federation’s territories, hence his interest in Teal and Vandor.   
‘You Travis?’  
News of his supposed death had not been broadcast – there were other priorities on Space Command. He #did# have a reputation from his Federation days – and he was trying to create a different one now.  
‘Why?’ He would stall as long as possible – it #was# unlikely that Blake or “somebody” would appear and rescue him.   
‘I am Bayban the Butcher.’  
It took Travis only moments to identify the name. ‘General nuisance – will fight the rebels or the Federation. You earned your byname.’ Travis had learnt that such people wished their sobriquet respected – and he wanted as long as possible to think of a way out of the situation.  
‘Yes. You are worth a lot of money, if you are Travis, and I intend to collect.’ From whom it was not clear.  
Honest at least.  
‘And if I don’t cooperate?’ Travis was not in a position to activate his hand weapon.  
‘I will make you.’ Bayban’s sidekicks appeared – somewhat unprepossessing.  
There was a scuffle between them, and then there were others joining in.

It took Travis a few moments, once they had left the bar, to identify the people who had helped him escape an unpleasant situation. Space Rats… as fancily dressed and coiffured as the stories had made them.  
‘Why?’ he asked.  
The seeming leader replied. ‘Space Rats enjoy a fight – and you seem to be an interesting proposition: anybody Bayban was fighting should be investigated. You are ex-military?’ A gesture at his arm and face.  
Travis nodded, assessing the knowledge behind the remark. ‘Why should I come with you?’ He wanted to know what he was letting himself in for before proceeding. He would give any request for his services serious consideration.  
‘I am Atlan, leader of these Space Rats. They need training. We rescued you. Nobody will be after you on our planet.’  
Travis thought for a few moments, at least partially for show. Interesting that Atlan had understood about Travis’ repairs… but the Space Rats had a reputation for being interested in technology of any sort. And Atlan, Travis guessed, might not be a Space Rat himself.  
‘What do I get for my services beyond a safe haven for now?’ In the military it was necessary to establish such things to start with – more so outside it.  
‘Good – you’ve got some brain. Whatever share of the bounty we acquire you can prove that you’ve earned. And anything else within reason.’ Similar rules of looting and acquisition applied within the military.  
‘Can I leave?’ Travis read Atlan’s expression. ‘So I can plan the rest of my life, and what to do if I get another offer. And can I pursue my own interests?’ At the moment survival was more important than Blake.  
‘When they know where we are so we have to move, then you discuss leaving… unless it is you who told or reveal our position. And – first pay for your rescue, then discuss your private interests.’  
‘Agreed then.’ Not that Travis had much choice. It was the best offer he was likely to get anyway – though the Space Rats would not be like a bunch of raw recruits. As he followed Atlan Travis wondered if the Space Rats would be interested in the Liberator.

****

Travis found it challenging to train the Space Rats… but interesting. They constantly questioned what he was doing – but to compare it with their previous experience, rather than the cheek of insolent recruits. He was learning from them in turn… if he could forget about Blake, as he now did occasionally, he could see himself continuing this working relationship for some time yet. The sense of camaraderie he sometimes felt here was no different to that he had enjoyed with his troopers and fellow officers. And, he reflected occasionally, there was no opportunity here for the career political-military staff there had been in the Federation High Command, relying upon nothing but connections and back-stabbing. Skill and daring were the key aspects for respect… and he could understand that.  
It was not the sort of life on leaving the military he had planned when he had ever considered the matter – but it was one he was prepared to accept for now. He had no ideas yet of a better… but he was thinking about possible alternatives less frequently now.  
He had not decided yet when, or if, to abandon his habitual black – though a more sedentary life had led to him having to abandon his military uniform for something more accommodating.

When he suggested that the Space Rats form larger groupings he was told that the present system of loose cooperation between gangs managed to avoid both a sustained Federation campaign to destroy them or the interest of the Terra Nostra to exploit them.   
‘Besides they’re in cahoots with each other,’ another Space Rat said.  
‘What makes you say that?’ Travis asked, shifting into his old intelligence gathering mode. The information might be useful someday, somewhere.  
‘Stands to reason dunnit? The Terra Nostra can survive where no self-respecting opposition can – and they’re important enough for the Federation to do something about if they weren’t connected.’  
There were murmurs of agreement at this.  
‘Perhaps you should take their place,’ Travis said with a smile.  
‘Boring. We’re Space Rats, not Federation lackeys, doing all their work for them and filling in all them forms and paperwork which do nothing for nobody.’  
There was general approval of this statement. Travis could understand the sentiment – it had not just been Blake which had kept him from becoming a staff officer – administration, paperwork, and the backstabbing and infighting that went with it, had seemed uninteresting.  
‘Getting in touch with all your inventive people makes more sense,’ another Space Rat said.  
More sounds of agreement. Travis had, remembering the not-quite-encounter with Ensor, suggested that the Space Rats locate other such people and see what arrangements could be made. There had been sufficient success, by the Space Rats’ standards, to convince them to continue – and at least some of those contacted were willing to cooperate to their mutual advantage.  
‘Besides the Terra Nostra sell Shadow – gives you brain rot.’  
Travis laughed. ‘You oppose drugs not for moral reasons but for practical ones.’ He could agree with them on the specific matter. They – and he – accepted some drugs as necessary occasionally.  
‘Morality’s claptrap – one thing today, one planet, another tomorrow, a different planet. Survival comes first, and an agreed deal honoured, and everybody can agree on that.’ There were murmurs of assent. The Space Rats did have an ethical code of sorts.  
Atlan joined them.  
‘More of your would-be visitors and potential recruits Travis. And some interesting somebodies to go to ‘  
‘Who?’ Travis asked.  
‘Hal and Dayna Mellanby – weapon developers.’ A topic the Space Rats were interested in. ‘On some galactic edge planet called Sarran.’  
The surname and the planet were vaguely familiar to Travis, but not necessarily together. He would find out more.  
‘Atlan – Travis was thinking of us replacing the Terra Nostra,’ a Space Rat said, treating it as a joke.  
‘Feel free to consider the idea – however you might invite that maniac Bayban to do something in that direction instead rather than disrupting our activities. They might get rid of each other.’  
‘And that Dorian,’ someone added, referring to one of their latest contacts. ‘He’s up to nothing good.’  
‘The stuff inside his ship was better than the ship itself.’  
Travis wondered how long before Dorian would be “persuaded” to give up the ship. He could understand what the Space Rats meant about Dorian.

****

A Space Rat came to Travis and Atlan as they were discussing business matters, looking slightly puzzled.  
‘What is it?’ Altan said.  
The Space Rat gestured at Travis.  
‘Summat’s going wrong with your Federation computers.’  
‘There is *always* something wrong with them,’ Travis said. Given the Space Rats’ interest in current technical developments – particularly in their areas of interest – there would be something more than the usual glitch.  
‘How does it affect the Space Rats?’ Atlan asked.  
‘Some of the planets we and our mates were doing… business with have their computer controlled weather going wrong, so the people won’t work with us – local things given priority. There are problems with nav satellites.’  
‘There always are,’ Travis said. He tried to ignore the brief whisper in his mind about Star One – Servalan had mentioned it while waiting in the sometime Central Control for Blake. ‘Try other planets and contacts.’  
‘Same thing all over the place. There’s too many of them problems,’ the Space Rat said.  
‘You heard about the Nova Queen?’ Atlan interrupted.  
‘Pilot error they said,’ Travis replied. The ship had collided with a freight transporter or something.  
‘The flights are always preset on ships like that – especially close to planets as they were,’ Atlan said. ‘There *have* been too many incidents – and we need the nav satellites as much as anyone.’ The Space Rats occasionally went so far as to report problems with them to the relevant authorities, albeit through roundabout channels.   
‘One of the better good things of your Federation,’ the Space Rat said. ‘If it stuck to things like that, nobody’d make no complaints about it.’  
Travis had heard variants on the comment elsewhere – and had decided, since joining this group and making contact and conversation with others, that there might be some truth to it. The region needed strong government and force needed to be used on occasion – but he now accepted that the situation was more complicated than it had appeared in the military.  
‘People *always* make complaints,’ Atlan said. ‘But some of the rebels have a point – the Federation authorities interfere too much and prefer *unnecessary* violence to cooperation.’ He turned to Travis. ‘You’re ex-Federation. You find out what’s wrong.’  
‘Perhaps,’ Travis said, half jokingly, ‘the Space Rats should go into the repair of such equipment, and devise a system that better suits their purposes – and people are willing to pay for.’  
‘You can find the experts to do that as well,’ Atlan said. There were murmurs of agreement to both statements.

Travis shared their concern. He was not certain now *where* his loyalties lay – to the authorities who would now have him killed if they knew of his survival, or to the Space Rats with whom he now worked – but failing equipment on the scale that was becoming evident once pointed out was dangerous to everyone, whatever their position and intent.  
The Space Rats were still somewhat chary about Dorian, even though he had pursuits they were interested in.   
Travis’ suggestion that Slave should be reworked so that it could “act like a Space Rat” – or more such autonomous computers with that intent be developed was treated more seriously than he intended, and suitable people investigated – which led, among others, to one Belkov. A crook he might be but he was honest about it – and stated that “the challenge” was at least as important as the money – which Travis could understand.

****

‘Perhaps,’ Travis said as they made the journey to Sarran to acquire the Mellanbys, ‘we could consider investigating the intergalactic drive.’ The planet, it became apparent on investigation and from Travis’ knowledge, was a way-station on the route to the intergalactic defence network, and had a repeater station – and Hal Mellanby was connected with a rebellion of long ago.  
‘What’s that?’  
Travis realised, as he still did occasionally, that he was still party to some military knowledge unfamiliar elsewhere.  
‘Something you’d be interested in – if it could ever be made to work. To aid ships’ travel between galaxies. There were rumours of it being developed.’  
Given the general interest shown Travis almost regretted mentioning the topic. He would be made to pursue the matter regardless of how impractical he said it was.  
But so was Blake’s attempts to fight the Federation, and he persisted. #When# had he last thought about Blake?   
‘We start looking for information on the intergalactic drive,’ Atlan said, to general agreement.  
‘It may take time,’ Travis said, ‘and what we are doing now may yield some of the answers.’ He grinned. ‘The Federation would wish to keep such things secret, and is not averse to killing those who know about such matters.’ Knowledge of Central Control being a ghost entity had probably been the main reason for Travis’ trial, rather than what he had done. ‘We may need more recruits – even just to understand the equipment,’ Travis added.  
‘We will discuss and pursue the matter.’ Said in a way that would brook no argument.  
‘Perhaps,’ Travis said, ‘a base should be set up on Sarran.’ From the details given the planet was reasonably habitable, at least in parts.  
Atlan considered the suggestion. ‘Develop the intergalactic drive and anything else needed near the galaxy’s edge on a planet the Federation haven’t colonised and so go outwards ahead of them.’  
‘It may be a useless planet for our purposes,’ one of the Space Rats pointed out. ‘Or something unpleasant on it, like what they say about Kairos.’  
‘Even the Federation has to establish supply lines,’ Travis said. ‘Sarran is in the edge region of the galaxy in the direction of Andromeda – and some people already live on it. When the Federation does move in that direction, the Space Rats’ll be there waiting for them – and we need a base in case Caspar becomes compromised.’ #When# had he started thinking of this group as “we”?  
There was general approval of these ideas.  
One of the other Space Rats joined them. ‘Here’s the latest batch of “things gone wrong” – still looks like what you said about Star One going mad or cross-eyed or whatever them computers do when they go wrong may be right.’  
‘How do we find it? Can it be fixed?’ Atlan asked, looking at Travis.  
‘*Nobody* knows where it is. I am as much an expert on the matter as you: anything beyond general repairs to a spaceship and weapons is outside my field.’  
‘Star One needs maintenance – so how does it get supplied?’  
‘It probably serves other purposes as well – otherwise someone would be able to work out where it was from the things being sent there.’ Or the official accountants would decide it was an unjustified waste of money which would then be given to someone with more clout.  
‘We find people who can help us. The nav satellite computer experts we are collecting. Your Blake’s computer expert perhaps.’ There was vague interest in the rebels, and also occasional cooperation or informal agreements not to go after the same base; information and resources could be exchanged or shared.  
‘We will have to devise appropriate ways of locating and communicating with them.’

****

Sarran, it turned out, was reasonably habitable, providing an arrangement could be made with the locals, and the Mellanbys were willing to cooperate. Young Dayna was more than willing to link up with the Space Rats, and they to make use of the weapons she created. Travis was told, once they had returned to Caspar, to ‘go investigate the intergalactic drive and anything else interesting he thought about.’  
Which he would do – partially for his own curiosity – and also to “do something” with Blake as in the old days. What would be the best way to contact the Liberator? He would go for the pilot and the computer expert – they might be able to override Blake’s wishes. The thief might be of interest to this group as well.  
Then what? Nothing he would do to Blake would reverse his injuries… and he no longer had Servalan to drive him. And perhaps if some concessions were granted to the civilian populations of the Federation they would be less likely to support the rebels.  
He would continue training the Space Rats until he could decide upon something better to do, which might take longer than he expected. Travis realised he actually enjoyed the present situation… would continue with it as long as he could. And he was now regularly wearing somewhat more colourful clothes.

 

****

Travis listened to the message being transmitted on all channels. The proverbial alien invasion was happening – and Sarran was in the front line – and Star One was somehow involved. Somewhat to Travis’ surprise the Liberator was holding the defence. Whoever-the-invaders-were must be worse than the Federation then, or Blake would have made an alliance with them.  
‘I,’ Travis said to the assembled group of Space Rats, ‘am going to fight.’ There was no other option. This was what he had been trained to do… even if he was now regularly wearing brighter clothes, though still somewhat restrained by Space Rat standards.  
‘So will we,’ Atlan said, looking at the others.  
‘It’s our galaxy innit,’ said a Space Rat. ‘And it’d be a lot of hassle coming to an arrangement with them lot: we know exactly how not to annoy the Federation enough to come after us, and getting people to cooperate to our advantage.’  
‘And you might be able to salvage their technology?’ Travis asked with slight amusement.  
‘Not salvage – our reward for helping.’ The Space Rats preferred to be paid in kind when their services were required. The occasional mercy dash or glamorous exploit they indulged in enhance their reputation, and discouraged the authorities on all sides from a complete crackdown.

****

Travis acknowledged a hint of uncertainty about leaving the galaxy: he was going into the unknown. But – he was going for a purpose… and there had been others who had left the galaxy before. There were astronomical bases and research centres outside the galaxy. They probably overlapped to a large extent with the extragalactic military bases that were known about in the circles Travis had occupied, but rarely referred to.  
The communications channels were open and there was a background chatter among the ships. Travis realised how much he had missed being part of a military force. When he turned on the visuals the ships did not resemble any fleet he had been in. There were Federation military vessels of course, but also several ships Travis could not recognise, and some of the messages were in dialects and languages his computer could not translate. It appeared that the Liberator’s alert had been re-broadcast outside the Federation – and the threat been judged a common one.

Then they were approaching the battle… and for the first time Travis saw the Liberator in full action. Why hadn’t Servalan ordered a search for the Liberator’s origins and got another ship to match it? Something else for the Space Rats to pursue – which they would, whether or not Travis suggested it.  
He linked up with his Space Rats.  
‘That is the Liberator. We fight alongside it, and protect it.’  
Various expressions of assent and admiration. Travis smiled at the thought of Blake trying to deal with the Space Rats negotiating for the Liberator and then was involved in the battle.

 

It was a long fight… but they were winning. And Travis was proud of his Space Rats. He had trained them well.  
Then it was suddenly over, the alien ships fleeing. One ship exploded as it hit a mine, the last of the Federation’s work of defence.  
A familiar, though long unheard, voice came over the communications channels, directed at Travis.  
‘Thank you for your help, whoever you are.’  
Travis looked at the controls of his ship, realised he would never make it back to the galaxy.  
‘Blake – it’s me. My ship’s in trouble.’  
‘We’re here to help,’ a Space Rat said.  
Travis was too exhausted to explain… and the Liberator was approaching his ship.

****

Travis had found the guided tour of the Liberator interesting. At least the crew had been honest in saying that it was curtailed ‘for obvious reasons.’  
The Space Rats were trying to negotiate with Blake over the ownership of the Liberator – a situation hotly disputed by Avon and to a lesser extent the others. When it became clear that the ship was not for sale the Space Rats suggested that they join the crew, on the basis of their technical skills and mutual dislike of the Federation’s interference, or they cooperate in finding other such ships.  
‘Blake,’ Travis said, after one particularly long session, ‘come to an arrangement with them – or they’ll be chasing you with as much persistence as the Federation.’  
‘Nothing to do with you?’ Blake seemed amused at the situation.  
‘Do you know anything about Space Rats? Just make an agreement with them and be done with it. Given the state of the Federation you will need all the allies you can get to do anything.’  
Blake looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Truth be told – I never thought we’d get this far.’  
‘Restore order – and everybody’ll be grateful. Suggest some reforms just to keep the population quiet.’ Since linking up with the Space Rats Travis had come to hear the hollow banalities of official pronouncements, and understand why the Federation population turned to any other sources of information, however officially frowned upon. ‘I want the Federation to survive – what I was brought up to do– and I now accept some compromise is needed.’  
‘You’ve changed Travis… as have I. I will see what the other rebels suggest.’  
‘Blake – we understand why we fight and the cause of it all. Nothing can change the past – but must the warring between us continue?’  
Blake thought. ‘We will never be on the same side – a truce then?’  
‘Yes. I would prefer to be where I was… but I will accept the Space Rats.’  
‘You enjoy the challenge?’ Blake asked, smiling, having obviously assessed the situation.  
‘Yes,’ Travis acknowledged. ‘And you enjoy the challenge of opposing the existing regime – rather than becoming its President.’ He shrugged. ‘If things had gone slightly differently I might be based on the Liberator and you trying to manage the Space Rats.’  
Blake laughed.

****

Travis was back on Caspar with *his* Space Rats, and was glad of it. They had played their bit in the war and were now considering the future and how the changes would affect them. Blake and other rebels were involved in the complexities of changing the existing regime and making it more acceptable to those it governed – and finding it more difficult and convoluted than they expected.  
Various bits of equipment had been acquired as “payment” and several researchers, all concerned with topics of interest to the Space Rats had joined them. Some were willing to consider any suitable work now that the Federation military and its budgets were depleted, others were actively looking for new opportunities. While there were some complaints about lack of resources given the situation, everything seemed to be working well. With the increasing numbers of incomers to their groups on Caspar and on Sarran they would have to consider more bases soon. The suggestion that they look for further ships like the Liberator had been readily agreed to – and those on the Liberator were willing to cooperate in the search.  
Fortunately Travis had heard of Klegg and his death squad unit – who had appeared on Caspar – rather than known them personally so he was unrecognised: he had decided to remove them before they did the same to him. He was glad that another incomer, young Del Tarrant was likewise aware of their reputation – and had no compunction about getting rid of them either – and the Space Rats agreed with the assessment. After a short discussion, and a demonstration of his piloting and other skills, which were deemed acceptable, Tarrant chose to join the group.  
So, after an encounter in Dorian’s base on Xenon which fully justified the unease felt about him, did Soolin and what was now her ship, the Scorpio. Avon and Orac, when contacted, expressed interest in the subject of sentient computers, and improved Slave.

The pilot was a useful addition to the community on Caspar – if only he wasn’t quite so impetuous.  
‘Though,’ Travis said to Tarrant one day after reminding him of his priorities again, ‘you’ll be making the same complaints when you’re my age.’ Travis would not be surprised if Tarrant did eventually become leader of the group here. The Space Rats groups were willing to accept outsiders as their leaders if of sufficient skill and presence. Tarrant as a former captain, who claimed that being blocked for promotion had been one reason for his leaving the service, had many of the necessary skills to run the base.  
‘And which side will you take?’  
‘Both of course. You are free to leave whenever you wish – though we might not be here when you came back.’  
‘It would have to be somewhere like the Liberator or the Federation’s best ships. If any remain.’  
‘Find yourself the proverbial wonder ship – and we’ll discuss the matter,’ Travis said almost indulgently, remembering himself at Tarrant’s age, with the same desire to change everything.  
‘The Space Rats’d agree with that.’  
‘Which is why a good plan is needed.’  
‘Perhaps Belkov could come up with something.’  
‘I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him… and I’d still count my fingers afterwards.’  
‘He did improve Slave – perhaps we should go to Freedom City and observe the encounter with Krantor.’  
Travis wondered whether he would be recognised as he now was. He now found Tarrant’s clothing slightly bland – and eventually the younger man would follow suit.  
‘And will you take Dayna with you for a ceremonial?’  
Tarrant blushed in a way that suggested that this, rather than the other encounter, was his prime motive.

****

Travis decided that his life on Caspar was as good as it was ever likely to get. The Federation was running quietly, the rebels and those they had fought against having come to a compromise, and the population in general had been given sufficient concessions to keep them quiet. He had made plans should he part company from the Space Rats – though he was as unlikely to use them as the black military uniform he still retained, mainly for sentiment, in his wardrobe.  
As a kid he had played Troopers and Space Rats – and as an adult he had now led both – and there were several points of resemblance between them, notably in the sense of camaraderie, and loyalty to the rest of the group.  
He did not know where his loyalties ran beyond Caspar and its associated planets. Among the Space Rats he was safe, so long as he kept their respect... and he would deal with old age when it finally came.  
The Space Rats were prospering. While there were occasional mutterings that they were not Free Traders, there was a willingness to accept the benefits of such opportunities as arose through their activities. It had amused Travis, having accompanied them, to see the Space Rats’ expressions when, on announcing their presence on the latest jaunt, they were asked to repair some equipment rather than been treated as something slightly dangerous. They had completed negotiations and repairs, and spent the rest of the journey back to base arguing over whether pursuing such opportunities would ruin their image: the discussion would be repeated the next time, as usual. 

Travis wondered, as he left the group’s discussion to return to the base, at the picnic turned drinking session how viable Tarrant’s suggestion that the Space Rats join the test pilots undercover would be considered in the sober light of morning,  
‘I can’t handle alcohol like I used to either,’ Atlan said as he joined Travis, who refrained from comment. ‘Didn’t you ever want to be a test pilot?’   
‘Don’t we all – briefly? I decided I would prefer the Mark Twos, with all the problems solved and improvements made. Slightly safer.’ Travis replied.  
Atlan laughed. ‘Likewise. But who’s to say that they aren’t right?’  
‘Keep it up and we might even become respectable.’ Travis grinned. ‘Which might be the best way to convince our Space Rats *not* to get involved.’  
Atlan laughed. ‘We are giving them what they want Travis – the respect of those whom they value, and other Space Rats wanting to join up with us. And if the consequence is a degree of respectability they will accept it.’  
‘As fewer people are trying to bend them of course they will.’  
‘Looking to the future – you said when you first linked up with us that you wanted an option to leave. Do you still want it?’ Curiosity not a threat. ‘Leading the Rats is a younger man’s pursuit – and Tarrant is earning the respect needed. I no longer quite have the energy to do so.’ As close as Atlan was likely to come to admitting that he had a problem.  
Travis considered the option of leaving, realised he had not done so as more than a theoretical option in … more years than he cared to admit to. ‘I have yet to come across a better offer – but one day I’ll be too … middle aged for this.’ Middle age was always five years away from the present. He shrugged – his clothes #were not tight.#  
‘There’d be some fun in telling Tarrant how to do things better when he does actually take over.’ Tarrant was taking the lead more  
Now Travis laughed. ‘And … I never went much further than make enough money and retire to Freedom City perhaps. I have some ideas, but no need to put them into operation yet.’ And that was probably as far as it would ever go.   
‘Not even to chase after your Blake?’ Atlan asked.  
*When* had he last thought of Blake? He was not even certain what Blake was doing at present.  
‘We are no longer opponents through circumstances – and how would I justify doing anything to Blake to the Space Rats? Too long ago now – and we fought alongside each other. What he and his created works – so it isn’t stupid.’ He yawned – the afternoon #was# catching up with him.  
‘The Federation will always need changing, whatever has been done, whoever is in charge. If Blake, Avalon and their associates get to fully implement what they wish to create there will be a new lot of rebels – some of them will be those in power now.’ There were signs of significant structural change in the Federation. The authorities were seeking cheaper ways of imposing control – and in some areas found that granting concessions fitted the requirements. Incorporating “persons from the opposition” within the administration so they learnt the practicalities of governing and had to take responsibility for their proposals also worked.  
‘And the Space Rats will continue independent regardless.’  
‘That’s the spirit.’ Atlan waved to indicate the base and the Space Rats. ‘This is as good as it gets, Travis. One day your Blake and his associates will come to the same conclusion.’  
‘I think you may be right.’


End file.
